


sing me a song of lace

by vannral



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Endearments, Established Relationship, Fluff, Lingerie, M/M, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 21:13:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5841184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vannral/pseuds/vannral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter has a surprise for Clint, and he's nervous about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sing me a song of lace

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so...I have no idea. I have absolutely NO IDEA. *hides behind hands* I'm embarrassed.  
> 

Okay, Peter is freaking out. No, more than that; his nerves are practically _non-existent_ right now; burnt out and torn to shreds. He can’t _believe he’s doing this._ No way. It’s been plaguing his brain a lot these days, and finally, he decided to be brave and just _go for it._ (It was embarrassing, but thank God for online shopping.) Gingerly he raises the garment up from it’s wrappings and examines it. It’s gorgeous, to be honest; all black delicate, almost transparent lace, glossy silk…

It’s _so pretty._

(But what if Clint freaks out? What if Peter looks ugly in it? What if it makes things weird?)

Clammy sweat beads on Peter’s forehead, and his hands tremble, so not wanting to ruin it, he puts it hastily back in the box and proceeds to have a miniature freak out. _Is he really gonna do this?_

_Oh my GOOOOD,_ he thinks and bites his nails. Clint’s supposed to come back tonight from his stealth mission (seriously, _fuck you, Fury.)_ , and nerves have tied themselves into painful knots in Peter’s stomach. He’s missed Clint so much, his stupid puns and humor, their jokes and –

\- _and he’s just so impossibly in love with the man._

_(he still feels a bit weird about the lingerie, though…)_

                                                                 * 

     “Oh my God, _you’re back!”_ Peter grins, and that shines like a setting sun, and Clint has never seen more welcome, more _precious_ sight. They embrace tightly, Peter’s thin fingers cradling the base of Clint’s skull, and it’s so warm, familiar and _lovely_ just to keep him close. Peter smells like home.

     “Hey, darlin’”, he grins and kisses Peter’s temple. “You okay?”

     “Oh, just fine! Had the whole bed to myself”, Peter beams at him, and his fingers tug gently Clint’s jacket.

     “Yeah?” Clint asks with amusement. “That good, huh?”

     “No, it was lonely and awful and too hot, ‘cause you weren’t there to hog covers. Soo…”

Chuckling, heart swelling with love and adoration, Clint kisses him again, holding Peter’s face between his calloused hands.

     “Hi”, Peter grins, beaming, so giddy, so _heartbreakingly_ good.

Clint nudges him gently with his nose. “Hey.”

     “So, uh – you hungry? There’s some leftover-lasagne in the fridge, if you want, Aunt May dropped by yesterday, and – “

     “Pete. Sweetheart.”

     “Um, yeah, what?”

     “Can we – uh…” Clint stammers slightly, flustered, and Peter’s heart melts. Seriously, he can’t _believe this man, okay, how this has happened, but he’s so impossibly grateful –_

     “Oh, good! That’s fine. Come on!”

He proceeds to drag Clint upstairs – or, tries to, but Clint stops him by their bedroom door and crushes their mouths together into a burning kiss that makes Peter’s toes curl. His stomach coils in familiar, fluttery response, and they part, breathing in sync.

     “C’mon, go – go wait, I’ll be there in a bit”, Peter whispers, nipping Clint’s lower lip, and Clint looks at him curiously.

     “Yeah, yeah, okay. Don’t be long, yeah?”

     “And keep you waiting? _Noooo…”_

So Peter disappears into their bathroom, and Clint slumps on their bed like a sack of potatoes and groans into the pillow.

Goddamn Fury and his stupid missions. _‘Oooh, we need a pair of sharp eyes on the roof, oooh, we can’t take anyone else, although we promised you a vacation, oooh’ – go fuck yourself. Sir._

He was more than a little annoyed that Fury’s stupid stealth mission intervened with Clint and Peter’s date, and he was sure to drill holes in Fury’s forehead.

But…home sweet home. Thank God.

_Peter’s taking his sweet time, though…_

     “Pete? What’re ya doin’ in there?”

     “Uh, can you wait a minute? I’ll be there…just – soon…ish.”

It sounds strained. Clint frowns and sits up. “Everythin’ okay?” he asks, slightly worried.

     “Yeah! Yeah, jus’ – uh, wait! Don’t fall asleep!” a panicked voice replies hastily.

     “I know I’m pretty old, but don’t have to rub it in, darlin’.”

A choked laugh. “No, wait – what? That’s not what I meant. C’mon, just – just _wait –_ “

_Okay,_ Peter thinks taking a deep, shaky breath. _It’s show time._ He opens the door and steps out. Cold air makes goosebumps crawl on his skin. The bedroom is dimly lit, soft golden and blue shadows. 

Instinctively Clint rises up, and his eyes widen, when he realizes what Peter’s wearing.

Silence falls. It rings, heavily. Peter’s heart races, blood rushes in his ears and _chants: it’s a mistake, oh my god, I made it weird, this is weird, holy shit –_

His cheeks flush bright red, embarrassed, and _suddenly humiliated,_ and he _turns away,_ his heart thumping sickeningly, and he feels like _throwing up –_

     “No, no, no – don’t – c’mon, darlin’ – “ Clint sounds _low,_ wrecked. Very gently, he approaches and turns Peter to face him. Clint’s face is painfully bare. “Wow. Jesus, _Pete,_ you – you look _gorgeous.”_

Peter’s nerves settle, a little. “Yeah?” he asks softly.

Clint swallows thickly, and his eyes are dark. “Yeah. _Fuck_ – I can’t believe you did somethin’ like this, _this – “_ His hand trembling, he reaches for the lace, but then he halts, and he gazes at Peter, who understands and nods, giving him permission. “You look _amazing.”_

     “You like it?” Peter asks breathlessly, turning so he can fit better in Clint’s arms.

     “ _Like it?”_ Clint laughs, and he sounds rough, _desperate._ “I – Christ, Pete, I can’t even – I _love_ it.” Slowly, he lowers his warm, calloused hands on Peter’s slim hips and pulls him closer. “You look fuckin’ _fantastic,_ Pete.”

     “It feels great, too, way smooth, it’s like, barely _there”,_ Peter murmurs, their breath minglening together, and Clint watching him under half-lidded, dark eyes, and it’s so _painfully intimate._

     “Yeah?"

     “Mmh-hmm.”

Clint bows his head, and captures Peter’s lips with his own; it’s _hungry,_ scorching hot kiss that pours every single hour that Peter stressed about _this,_ about Clint’s safety, _his longing,_ his frantic _panic;_ and their tongues slide against each other with familiar ease, and lack of air burns their lungs, forcing them to part, and rest their foreheads together.

     “Can I…?” Clint grunts, against Peter’s lips, and as a response, Peter pushes him down on bed, sits astride on his lap and rolls his hips against Clint’s.

Clint’s jaw clicks shut, as his eyes roll blindly backwards. His breathing is heavy and _ragged._

     “Yeah”, Peter murmurs and leans above him, pressing a lovely kiss on his mouth, and Clint’s eyes close, flutter shut, his lips chasing after his. “Are you up for this…?”

     “Always”, Clint grunts, resembling a low growl. Peter beams, brightly, like a sun, and he bends down to kiss him; slowly, intimately, _hungrily,_ and desire burn in their stomachs; Clint’s breathing grows even harsher, his heart hammering against his chest, and Peter feels it, too.

     “Are you _sure_ you’re okay? Should you maybe check in with the medical, ‘cause if you die now, that’d be really awful.”

     “I dunno, there’re worse ways to go, I guess.” He’s stroking absentmindedly Peter’s hipbones.

     “Not that, c’mon, that’d be _awful.”_

     “’m not gonna die.”

     “Yeah, that'd be great, 'cause we're in the middle of something, you know - "

Peter can’t finish his sentence, when Clint grabs him by the hips and rolls him around so Peter ends up between Clint and the mattress. And Clint’s expression is _hungry._

Peter grins, delighted. “Hi.”

     “Hey", Clint grins roguishly and that’s when he crushes his mouth against Peter’s – it’s _burning,_ delicious, sweet _burning_ that coils in the pit of Peter’s stomach; it’s wild, and his soul _practically sings_ with relief, longing, everything tangles together, and he presses his hand against the back of Clint’s neck, pulls him closer and rotates his hips.

He hears Clint’s breath hitch.

     “C’mon, Clint”, Peter murmurs against his lips, keeping his hips moving, and Clint shudders.

Instead of answering, he adjusts his position above Peter and proceeds to press hot kisses down Peter’s slender chest, down to his stomach, down his navel, and _down down down…_ Peter’s spine arches, and Clint’s large hands still him, firmly, but kindly.

     “Easy, _easy”,_ Clint grunts, his voice deep as Peter stills under him. He kisses down, to the delicate lace hem, and his lips _burn_ Peter, he’s so _sensitive_ under his familiar, skilful mouth that he trembles, his hand instinctively burying into Clint’s short hair.

Slowly, he pulls the lace garments down Peter’s hips, and it tickles, it’s so _marvellously sensual,_ slowly and beautifully _,_ and he gazes at him, like Peter’s _art,_ his dark gaze _drinking_ him in, like he’s a drowning man, like he can’t _believe he’s allowed to witness this…_

     “You’re gorgeous, darlin’”, he whispers kissing him again; it’s sloppy and open-mouthed, and Peter kisses fiercely back, determined to cling onto this. “Gorgeous, too good for me, _god_...”

     “’s okay, c’mon…Clint…” 

After a glance, Clint obeys, pulling the garment off him, throwing it on the floor, resuming to his ministrations, but he’s still careful, and Peter mutters: “C’mon, already, Clint, please, _please…”_

With a growl, Clint pulls him closer, blindly rummages through their night table, grabs a bottle of lube and lathers himself it.

Peter tugs his hair gently.

     “Yeah, _yeah,_ wait – c’mon – “

Clint pulls him against him, crushes their mouths again together, and it’s _burning,_ so wonderfully, and everything makes sense, _everything is so lovely -_

Peter tilts his head, it's white-hot shockwaves of pleasure piercing through his foggy consiousness, and oh, it's so _great_ , it's - like it should be, it's wonderful, Clint feels right - breathy groans escape his throat, and Clint drives in, faster, rougher, there must be bruises scattered like constellations on Peter’s hips, but he wouldn't have it any other way; tension, desire coils behind his navel, and finally, it explodes like _a red supernova._

With a strangled sound, Clint follows him over the edge, and Peter goes limp, heaving with dry gasps, and Clint presses kisses down his throat, to his chest. Blindly Peter strokes Clint’s neck.

     “You’re a fucking gift, sweetheart”, Clint whispers against Peter’s skin. “You’re way too good, Jesus _Christ,_ doin’ that, I can’t believe you did that...”

Peter flashes a charming, lazy grin. “I aim to please?”

     “Yeah, you sure as hell do, an’ you’re gonna kill me”, Clint murmurs and kisses him again. This time it’s softer and lazy. “I love you, you know.”

     “Oh, I know. And I love you, too, you nugget”, Peter smiles.

After cleaning up a bit, Clint wraps himself around Peter, like a protective shield, burying his face into Peter’s neck and tightens his grip around Peter’s waist, and they sleep, intertwined and _together_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I...hope you liked it? :D Thank you for reading.


End file.
